


|Rewrite| The Riddle Box

by Oberyn2206



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, Romeo et Juliette - Presgurvic, Rómeó és Júlia (Színház)
Genre: M/M, Rewrite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 06:43:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14688633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oberyn2206/pseuds/Oberyn2206
Summary: Sometimes witches just simply want to see men suffer. Ever since the game was started, bad things has happened.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is that "Riddle Box" fanfiction of mine that I posted here some time ago. To be honest, I really love the idea of the story, but at that time my writing, to myself, was pretty lame compared to now. So I decided to rewrite it, to make it a story with a deeper depth, and to see how I've improved my writing. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The fair had ended for quite a while, the noisy boisterous sound of music and laughing and chit-chatting had faded into the silence of the night. As Mercutio settled himself down by his desk, alone in his bedroom, it now was safe for him to unwrap the cloth that the sorceress had given him. That self-called soceress was, actually, merely a fortune-teller, one of the gypsies, he thought, nothing more. But she had been willing to gift him something that could lead him to a breathtaking game, a savior for his boring days, a thank-you present beacause he had been so generous and given her some extra coins. Her smile was mischievous, but to Mercutio, a thing which could tickle his curiousity was more appealing than any lady’s gorgeous face.

The moon was shining bright on the clear summer night sky. Nobody was awake. Mercutio turned to check if Valentine was still sound asleep, and when he knew the answer was yes, he started to unpack his present.

It was a wooden box that shaped like an ancient coffer, only as tall as a span-length and no longer than two palms of his. It was made of emerald green stones – Mercutio wondered why the soceress would give him such a luxurious thing – with borders carved elegantly like on those treasure chests of a king. On the silver borders were letters and symbols as if in a strange language he could not understand.

The inside of the box was as black as the deep dark night, so dark that Mercutio wondered if his hand could ever reach its bottom when he slipped his hand in. And then, Mercutio saw two little dots, fierce with thin slits and he did not know if they were small red glowing eyes or not. They faded, soon.

A cold breeze blew through the window made him shiver. He blinked several times, wanting to make sure that he only mistook. He looked at the box again. Nothing. It, on the other hand, now looked like a normal coffer, coated inside with velvet, no black hole that it contained. Fear started to invade Mercutio’s mind, but saying that he himself didn’t believe in magic or ghosts or something like that didn’t help at all, since all this by far had been so out of this earth, which made him startled. He stumbled backward.

“What is that noise?”

Valentine’s sleepy voice rose, but Mercutio let a sigh of relief when he noticed his brother was still closing his eyes. His fall had created a bid thudding sound on the floor.

He managed to tell a white lie: “I fell from the bed.”

There was no more words from Valentine, only a short hum. And with the sound of one shifting on a bed, the boy had returned to his sleep.

Wide-eyed by what he had just witness, Mercutio decided to seek some help. He didn’t want to do this, he loved his ego, but solving this problem by himself might lead to another problem. He had never faced magic or any kind of supernatural stuffs before. Maybe the famous Mercutio had been reckless of danger all the times, but he could not hide from the fact that human were scared of things they couldn’t understand. At least he needed someone to tell him what to do. 

By that thought, he sneaked out of the palace, not forgetting to bring the box with him.

The Prince’s nephew ran as fast as he could to where he had been given the present – the square where the fair had occurred. He wanted to meet the soceress again. If he could not return her magic box, at least he needed to know how use it before his usual carelessness cause havoc to anyone he wished not for. The summer rain had fallen, not heavily, but enough to wet one’s hair. As he reached the square, his shirt had been damped and his hair started to stick to his head. But no one could be found. The fair had gone, so did that soceress. There was no trace of her, there was no note left for him, either.

Mercutio decided to left the box right where it came from, in the middle of the square, on the ground, folded neatly in its cloth. Then he left. Someone else might found it in the morning, someone else might deal with it for him, he thought.

The rain started to fell heavier, and one could find it hard to see clearly under his own wet lashes, running water, and darkness. As Mercutio took his direction to a small alley to avoid the pouring rain, he tripped over something, and fell landing his face on the ground.

“Damn it.” He grumbled, tried to wipe away the mud on his eyes. He had the desire to kick whatever came his way so he could release his anger. But what he never expected… it was that box. Lying right there on the ground. Mercutio’s eyes darted everywhere, but no one was in sight, all doors and windows were closed and the whole Verona was still in her sleep.

As if this box had rolled here by itself.

Horrified at his own thought, Mercutio ran. Out of that alley, far from that devilish creation. But when he just turned right at a corner of the street, something hard like a rock or a flowerpot fell right on his head. There was no usual clashing sound. Lying on his back after another fall, Mercutio didn’t bother to check on his bleeding head and reached his hand to where he thought the object had landed. He didn’t dare to look at it, not wanting to know what it was. But he had to, and he wished he hadn’t. 

That box somehow was once again in his hands.

And just like that, Mercutio ran to his nearest acquaintance, hoping he could get some help. The rain had not yet stopped when Mercutio reached the balcony, growing heavier and heavier from minute to minute into a quite-out-of-season storm. Tragic as he might look, Mercutio didn’t come to care, and came to gently knock on the balcony door.

“Good… late night.”

“What are you doing here at this time… foe?”

Though his voice was still sleepy and strangely calm, it was no doubt that Mercutio’s appearance had annoyed Tybalt Capulet, especially when the man drawled out the word “foe”. The man only opened the door slightly, leaning on it as he observed the clown had just interrupted his once-in-a-blue-moon-nice sleep. He commented on the blood on Mercutio’s head, but the latter insisted that it was merely a scratch and it was only bloody stained now, it had stopped bleeding. With a voice low and deep, Tybalt let out a chuckle. “God, you look like a rat in the drain. Except that rats don’t have orange hair.”

“I have no time for sacarsm.” Mercutio pouted at the mock relating to his red head.

“Oh, I’m pretty surprised.” The other man still remained cold. “Since when did you decide to give up on sacarstic jokes?” Tybalt raised a eyebrow, in an expression that even a fool could tell that he was being dramatic and full of mocks. It got Mercutio right on his nerves, and the Prince’s nephew nearly jumped on his feet.

“First of all, that’s not a joke. Second, if it were, it was a horribly terrible joke. And last, I do not come here to talk about my hair!”

“Then what do you want to talk to?”

“It’s… complicated.” Mercutio suddenly spoke with a halt.

“Dear Mercutio of the Della Scala…” Tybalt started, his voice vibrated in his throat, as he stared at the said one with a half-hearted look. “What on Earth makes you come this far to seek me out, in the middle of the night I have to say, instead of crawling to your friends… Benvolio, Romeo…” He slightly snarled at the last name. “Why does it have to be me, your enemy, the one to whom you keep fighting?” If Tybalt wanted to let out a yawn, he was trying not to do it. “I’m having the best sleep of my life, so, I’m not in the mood for fighting. Don’t let me stab you here, or anyone from this family stab you, or anyone from this family order me to stab you.”

“Please, Tybalt. I’m serious. You’re the only one by far I could reach.” Mercutio lowered his voice, his stressful manner was hard to see at any other times, and he rubbed his palms together, what he only did when under pressure. But it was not enough to melt Tybalt, the Capulet was prepared for no pranks, so, he chose to slam the door at the poor soaked man’s nose.

“Tybalt!” Mercutio slightly yelled, for fear of being heard by the whole house, but as loudly as he could in the middle of this howling storm. He hit the door hard with his fists, in a rushing speed as if he was running out of time. There had not been any reactions from inside for a while, but Tybalt Capulet was a hot-headed, and he finally couldn’t stand it.

“I’m not joking this time. Tell me what you want quickly or go.” Tybalt gritted his teeth.

“I’m not joking, either.” Mercutio replied, calmly. No smile, no smirk. It made the other man have to think, and finally Tybalt had decided to let him in. Mercutio struggled to babble his words, partly because he felt so awkward for pleading Tybalt. “I need help. And… And I know you are the one of great learning about what I’m facing.”

“What kind of help?”

 

 

Tybalt gave the Prince’s nephew a towel to dry himself, and spare clothes to change. Could not let him dripping dropping all over the carpets and furnitures. As he sat by the night stand, Mercutio went on telling everything to the Capulet swordsman. As Mercutio said, the Capulet’s brows knitted together closer and closer, leaving him at the end of the story a twisted face of both disbelief and somewhat anger.

Mercutio had seen Tybalt got mad many times before, so many that he couldn’t even counted, but that was when someone pushed the man to his edge. This time, Mercutio only told him his story. But if Tybalt could yell and roar at Mercutio’s face, he could have done it.

“Please, Della Scala, promise me.” Tybalt rubbed his tempers, trying to calm himself down, and he sighed. “That you, right at the beginning, had no intention to fool around with this… thing. Have you any idea what you are dealing with?”

“I am not sure. It’s… magic, isn’t it?” Mercutio pondered. Was it why Tybalt acted so strangely calm?

“Witchcraft, in this case.”

“Why does she want to play witchcraft on me?”

“How do I know?” Tybalt exclaimed. “Maybe she even plays witchcraft on any man whenever she has the chance, and you, unfortunately, believed her “good” deeds.”

“I never believed wizardry, or dark power, or anything like that. I always thought you had been hallucinated and obsessed about them so I…” Mercutio wanted to protest, finding an excuse, but paused. Ja, he believed now, after what had occurred. “I had no intention. I promise.”

“Can I see the box?”

Mercutio handed Tybalt the box he had been holding all the while along, waiting restlessly for an answer, an explanation. He had not yet know what the box was for, or what it could do. But the red eyes in the box… He didn’t want to recall. Tybalt observed it for a moment, mumbling words about haunting spirits and something like the Jewish Dybbuk box that Mercutio didn’t quite gather, before put it gently on the night stand.

“So?” Mercutio coughed.

“So?” Tybalt asked back, raising an eyebrow.

“What are we going to do? What is this box about?”

“I don’t know.”

“What?” Mercutio gasped, fear started to invade his mind once more.

“There must be some instructions, or more information so I can figure out what to do with it, but there is none. I’ve never read of anything like this.”

The Prince’s nephew heaved a sigh and rubbed his palms again. What could happen to him if he could not find out what to do? Would an angry spirit haunt him and claim his soul? He was the one who received the box, after all. Would misfortunes fall on his head, leading him to misery, or maybe worse, on any other one’s head?  

Mercutio was still flooding his own mind with thoughts when Tybalt piped in. “Get on the bed.”

“What?”

“Don’t you want to get some rest? Your eyes look dead as hell.” Tybalt suggested, slapping on the pillow as a gesture for Mercutio to climb on the bed. “I’ll go see if I can find any more information for us.”

“I want to join!” Mercutio exclaimed.

“No.” Tybalt stated. “I would not know how to explain if another Capulet saw you wandering in this house at this time. Don’t worry, nobody will come into my room without my permission, even my aunt and uncle, you’re safe.” The Capulet assured. “I’ll just go to the library, maybe there’re still some books I haven’t come across yet. In that time, you stay here, and sleep.”

Mercutio wanted to protest, and got a little angry, too. Obedient sounded not like him at all. Over-thinking was not his character, either, but suddenly he yielded to Tybalt’s order. He didn’t want to cause tragedy to anyone with something he knew nothing about. It would be a rather stupid tragedy, he thought. So he nodded and tucked himself in bed when Tybalt headed out for the door.

“Tybalt?” He called.

“Here.”

“Why do you agree to help me so willingly?” Mercutio asked, feeling that it was not only him who was not himself after all. “You hate me.”

“Devilish creations are nothing you should mess up with. But thanks to you, I’m involved now. Maybe I do not want myself to get into more trouble.”


	2. Chapter 2

Mercutio woke up when warm sun beams danced across his eyelids and cheeks, but he did not come to open his eyes yet. A nice rest during a cool rainy night gained him his strength, he felt so comfortable and refreshed. He stretched like a cat, shifted and turned around, buried his face into a mane of long hair, taking in the sweet scent that smelled like cinnamon. Warm and strong like passion. His brother should use this cologne more often, rather than that scent of mint that he didn’t fond of.

 

Wait. This was not Valentine.

 

Mercutio jolted back with a gasp and opened his eyes. He had been nudging Tybalt’s hair! It was awkward, lucky that he had not embraced the man, Mercutio thought, for that would be way more embarrassing for him, to hug his sworn foe in one bed. As Mercutio sat up, Tybalt woke as well, looking wasted like a drown cat. Tybalt narrowed his eyes as he stared at Mercutio, his long dark hair was still covering messily over his head.

“I had a nightmare that I invited you to sleep in my bed and then you nudged me behind my neck.” Tybalt chuckled. “I wish it was only a nightmare.”

“You can just say good morning.” Mercutio bit back.

“I don’t think this is quite a morning to be good on. At least for me.” Tybalt let out a yawn and immediately shuffled under his pillow, taking out an old book. Opened it to a bookmarked page, he handed the book to Mercutio. “This is all you need to know.”

Mercutio took the book and read in astonishment, it contained all details of the history of wizardry, of witches and marges and widzards,… and how to use magic of all kinds from the beginning of time till the present days. A corner of the page had been torn off, but Tybalt insisted that it was alright, it was just a blank space that insects nibbled throughout the times. Every now and then Mercutio glanced up a bit to the nightstand where the magic box was still staying. It was a riddle box, created by witches to avenge men, or simply, just to see men suffer. They took pleasure in the failure of men trying to oblige their orders, seeing them changing minute after minute into inhuman creatures, and in the end, a complete animal, a beast. The Prince’s nephew felt something stuck in his throat and his mouth dry as he read, and as he finished, Tybalt could say Mercutio’s skin had turned white.

“If I did not start the game, I would not be turned, wouldn’t I?” Mercutio asked, voice small like a whisper.

“Whatever you do, it will roll itself to you again like it did last night, Mercutio.” Tybalt sighed, shaking his head. “The game, it has already been started since you received it.”

Mercutio dropped the book. He needed a moment, everything seemed so dizzy and he found he could not breathe. He never thought things would be this serious, would be so wrong though he, after all, did not do anything wrong. For once, he did not do anything that could be considered wrong, and bad things still happened. Mercutio heaved a long sigh, rubbed his palms and then his red hair in distress till it became like a crow nest. He was never good in riddles, he would lose!

But what if the book was wrong? Or, what if he didn't lose?

After a while seemed like eternity, Mercutio started:

“But… if I solved all the riddles before tomorrow midnight…”

“You won.”

“And I’ll still be a human!” Mercutio hopefully exclaimed.

Mercutio reached out for the box at Tybalt’s nod. A shiver ran along his spine, causing him to shudder, and he did not realise that his hands were slightly shaking. He was not yet ready for this. But the clock was tickling, no more time should be wasted. So he placed his hand once again on the lid of the box.

 

“No.”

 

Suddenly Tybalt stopped him. The Capulet swordsman gave him a stern look as he turned the box to his side, hand placing on the lid as well. He stated: “Let me.”

“What?”

“We’ll do this together. Two heads are better than one.”

“But I think I’m the one who brought it here so I must be...” Mercutio was confused, but soon his words were cut off.

“I’m good at riddles. It’d better be a nice good start, so, I’ll play it first.”


End file.
